The Silence Of The Library

TWELVE

I found my place in The Mystery at Spellwood Mansion and resumed reading. As I recalled, Veronica had just been told by the creepy butler that she was expected.

Veronica gasped. What could he mean?

The raven-haired girl was about to voice that very question but the butler suddenly glared at her, and Veronica read menace in his steely gaze.

“If you know what’s good for you,” he hissed like a snake about to strike, “you’ll leave as soon as the storm lets up and forget you ever came to this house.”

The old man might think he could frighten her with his eldritch words, but Veronica Thane did not scare easily. Though she had known adversity in her life, with the loss of her adventurous parents in darkest Africa when she was a young child, she had all the mettle of those two departed relatives. It would take more than a weird servant and a spooky mansion to discompose Veronica.

She had intended to apprise the man of his misconception, for she was a thoroughly honest and straightforward young woman, but she scented a mystery. Veronica liked nothing better than a mystery and had had some small successes in solving a few.

The young woman who was expected was obviously a stranger, else the butler would surely have realized his mistake by now. That girl had no doubt been delayed by the same storm that brought Veronica here, and there was no way of knowing when she might arrive.

In the meantime, Veronica decided impulsively, she would pretend to be that girl in order to determine whether there was actual danger in this house.

In a tone that brooked no argument, Veronica spoke. “That will do. You will please show me to a room where I might dry myself and make myself ready to meet your mistress.”

Recognizing an authoritative voice when he heard one, the butler recoiled slightly. “Very well, miss. If you will come with me.”

Satisfied that she had won her point, Veronica followed the servant up the stairs and to a suite on the second floor. “You will find everything you need here, miss. I will advise Mrs. Eden that you have arrived.”

Veronica nodded in dismissal, thinking how unlike Fontaine, her guardian’s butler, this man was. Mrs. Buff-Orpington would never allow Fontaine to treat a guest in her house in such a manner, and the butler himself would not deign to act that way.

As she dried herself with the purple towels she found in the bathroom, Veronica reflected fondly on her estimable guardian. Mrs. Araminta Buff-Orpington, a widowed Englishwoman who had long resided in the American South, had been at school with Veronica’s late paternal grandmother. When the elder Mrs. Thane died suddenly after hearing the grim news of the deaths of her only son and his young wife, it was discovered that Mrs. Buff-Orpington had been named Veronica’s guardian until she came of age.

“Aunt Araminta,” as Veronica called her, was an elegant, though reclusive, widow of considerable means, and she looked upon her ward as one would upon one’s own child. The relations between woman and girl were warm and affectionate, and Mrs. Buff-Orpington trusted in Veronica’s courage and good sense to carry her through any situation.

As she rang the bell to summon back the butler, Veronica knew she would have to keep her wits about her.

The servant appeared quickly, and Veronica followed him with grim determination to a sitting room on the ground floor. He motioned for Veronica to wait, and he opened the door and stepped inside. Veronica moved closer, intent on hearing anything the man said.

“Madam,” he intoned, “Miss Derivale is here. Are you ready to receive her?”

A trembling voice responded. “Oh, yes, Bradberry, show her in immediately.”

Veronica stepped back, and not a moment too soon. The door swung open wide, and the butler motioned her in.

“Madam, Miss Derivale.”

Veronica entered the room and paused a moment to survey her surroundings. The furniture and the appointments of the room called to mind the trappings of the Victorian age. Heavy, ornate, and, Veronica suspected, somewhat dusty. She suppressed a sneeze as she approached a middle-aged woman who reclined on a damask-covered chaise longue.

“That will be all, Bradberry,” Mrs. Eden spoke in a firmer tone.

“As you wish, Madam.” The butler withdrew, closing the door behind him.

Veronica gazed at her hostess, struck by the woman’s unhealthy pallor and feverish gaze. Why, Mrs. Eden appeared positively ill. Was the expected Miss Derivale a nurse, by any chance? she wondered.

Mrs. Eden forced herself upright and stared hard at Veronica. “Oh, dear, you are younger than I expected, but I am in such desperate straits, you will have to do.” Her voice broke into a sob, and Veronica hastened to comfort the distraught woman.

“How can I help you, Mrs. Eden?” she asked. “I will gladly do whatever I can to aid you, but you must confide in me.”

The older woman’s body trembled under Veronica’s comforting grasp. “I am in terrible danger, but I dare not leave this house.”

I grinned as I closed the book and put it aside. As an adolescent, I had found those chapter endings completely thrilling, and I always had to turn the page to see what happened next. Over four decades later I recognized melodrama when I read it, and tonight I was too tired to read further.

I glanced at the bedside clock. Quarter after ten. I figured Helen Louise might be home by now, so I picked up the phone and punched in her number.

The phone rang five times, and I was getting ready to leave a message when Helen Louise, slightly out of breath, answered and said, “Hello, love. Are you and Diesel already in bed?”

I glanced at the large feline at rest beside me. As usual, Diesel had his head on the pillow, turned toward me. He opened his eyes sleepily and meowed twice. “Yes, we are, and Diesel said to tell you hello. Did you just get in, sweetheart?”

Helen Louise chuckled, a warm, throaty sound that made my stomach do an odd lurch. How I had come to love that chuckle of hers. “Yes, I was walking in the door when I heard the phone. I knew it was you.”

“Oh, and not one of your other boyfriends?” I laughed, feeling like a giddy teenager.

“They never call this late.” Helen Louise giggled. “Oh, love, I missed seeing you today.”

“Me, too.” I pictured her dear face, lined with fatigue. She worked so hard at the bakery, but her business was better than ever. “You need another assistant, honey. You’re wearing yourself out.”

“I know.” She expelled a heavy breath, and I heard the exhaustion behind it. “You wouldn’t believe how hard it is to find reliable help. I’ve tried employing students part-time, but the last one never could turn up on time. The one before that was always calling in sick. At least Debbie is reliable and a hard worker.” Debbie Coulter was a young divorced woman who had been working at the bakery for about six months now.

“Too bad you can’t clone Debbie,” I said. Surely there had to be another hard worker somewhere in Athena.

“That would be nice. I’ll simply have to keep looking and pray that someone suitable turns up,” Helen Louise said. “But enough of that. What did you two get up to today?”

I gave her a shortened account of the events of the day, and she listened without comment until I finished. “Mon Dieu, what a mess. I know how you hate all these tense scenes, my love, but something tells me you ain’t seen nothing yet.”

“I wish you hadn’t said that,” I responded wryly. “Teresa and I both are nervous enough as it is.”

“Sorry, love.” Helen Louise sounded contrite. “Remember, though, you can’t control others, especially when they’re intent on causing mischief.”

“I know.” I suppressed a sigh. The problem was, I always had a hard time letting go of my intense desire to make things run smoothly.

Helen Louise chuckled again. “My dearly beloved control freak, try to relax. Do what you can, and let the Good Lord look after the rest.” She paused. “I didn’t realize you knew Carrie Taylor.”

“Not really,” I replied. “She got in touch with Teresa once we posted the information about Mrs. Cartwright on the library website. Do you know her?”

“Only slightly. Her bosom buddy is Melba Gilley, though.”

“Mrs. Taylor did mention her.” I could imagine the knowing smile on Helen Louise’s face. Melba was perhaps the biggest gossip in Athena, and if she and Carrie Taylor were that close, well, enough said, I reckoned. “I’m sure Melba will be on the phone first thing tomorrow, pressing me for details.” I was very fond of Melba, but she could be exasperating.

“Sorry, my dear, but I figured I had better let you know.”

After that we chitchatted for a few minutes, then, hearing the tiredness in Helen Louise’s voice, I admonished her to get some rest. We bade each other good night.

As I put down the phone, I felt a paw on my left arm. Diesel yawned and snuggled up to me. He liked to make sure I stayed close. He might disappear during the night to visit with another member of the family, but he didn’t want me going anywhere without his knowing about it. I drifted off to sleep, determined not to let my brain get caught up in worries over the events of the day.

When my bedside phone rang the next morning, I came out of a sound sleep and fumbled for the receiver. I mumbled a greeting, and an all-too-familiar voice barked in my ear.

“Mr. Harris, Kanesha Berry. Sorry if I woke you up.”

Kanesha, my housekeeper’s daughter, also happened to be the chief deputy in the sheriff’s department. Calls from her never boded well. Suddenly I was more alert.

“Doesn’t matter.” I glanced at the clock—ten minutes after seven. “What’s going on? Is there an emergency?”

“You could say that.” Kanesha sounded peeved—as she often did when she talked to me. “How well do you know a Mrs. Carrie Taylor?”

“Not that well. She’s been helping us at the library with an upcoming exhibit and an event.” I had a sick feeling in my stomach now. “Why do you ask?”

“She’s dead, and it looks like murder.” Kanesha pulled no punches. “She had your home phone number scribbled on a notepad by her desk, where her body was found.”